


Norwegian Wood

by Juliajewels



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Infidelity, M/M, Past Underage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliajewels/pseuds/Juliajewels
Summary: Oliver,I lied, I do mind.Wait for me,I'll be attending college in the states this fall.We don't have to make any promises,Just think about it.Yours always, Elio.Or, a possible parallel life for Elio and Oliver in New York. Elio is persistent, Oliver is stubborn. They struggle to make room in their lives for one another again.Completed 5/10/2018





	1. Part I

December 1983.  
Crema

Oliver,  
I lied, I do mind.  
Wait for me,  
I'll be attending college in the states this fall.  
We don't have to make any promises,  
Just think about it.  
Yours always, Elio.

January 1984.  
New York City

Elio,  
I got your letter.  
And so you know, It did get me thinking.  
No promises, not now.  
I wonder which college you will end up at, my guess is you'll have your pick to choose from.  
Keep writing, and let me know?  
Always, Oliver.

Oliver

Snowflakes fall outside the frosted window, drifting beneath street lights. The city is still and quiet as a snowstorm moves in late at night.

The radiator hums against static of the radio, Norwegian Wood is playing.

Oliver refills his glass, bourbon on ice. Smoke rises from a snuffed out cigarette in the ashtray. Elio's letter rests on his nightstand, and the words have been replaying in his mind ever since, stirring memories.

_I didn’t know you smoked?_  
_Sometimes._  
_I'm nervous._  
_Elio, Elio, Elio_

_But you never said anything._  
_Well, it's been on and off for more that two years._  
_I think it's wonderful news._

Elio’s voice still rings in his ears. It's the tremble of his voice that had given him away, he always gives away too much.

The thing is it was really over with Elaine, last year when she'd finally walked out on him after another fight over who remembers why. And then a few months after he'd returned from Italy, a phone call had led to coffee, and then I'll meet you for dinner sometime. They fell back into their routine, and it had been easy, the way he’d always thought it was supposed to be. The way he’d always thought love would find him, growing from a boy to a man.

And then there was Elio. Talented, brilliant, unpredictable, unexpected Elio. Who offered challenge after challenge to all of his defenses. He is so beyond where Oliver was at that age. Sometimes, he thinks, Elio is still beyond him.

_I know myself,_  
_And we've been good._  
_I want to be good._

It's good this way. Isn't it? Elaine is good, the life that they could have would be good, with picket fences and dinners and birthday parties and little league.

Good for Elio, better to set him free to be the man he was meant to be, always three steps ahead of everyone else in the room. The music he will play, the work he will create, the love he will find.

One more glass full tonight, just one more. Know your limits. But that's the problem right there, isn't it?

When there was just Elaine, he had thought he knew. Then Elio had to go and turn everything upside down, until he wasn't sure which end was up anymore.

~

Elio

Elio skids to a stop on his bike at the mailbox, checking for letters with his name. The colleges he's applied to start to reply in the Spring. He sets aside his parents correspondence, and stuffs the University envelopes into his backpack. There are a few letters Oliver sends, he folds the envelope into his back pocket, saves them to read before he goes to bed at night.

In March he sits at his desk after finishing a paper on Dante, and he started to fill out his paperwork for his acceptance to Juilliard for the Fall. In the end it was the only choice to make. New York is the city where he and his parents have spent time stateside, where he has family and friends. The music program is best suited to him. He tries not to wonder if Oliver will be living in New York next year.

“Ja pence que tu seres heureux a'Julliard, cher,“ Annella had said, after he'd announced his decision at the dinner table.

“J'espere bien, mom,” he'd answered.

Samuel calls him into his study after dinner. They sit on the couch as he tells Elio of his University stories, his missteps and lucky breaks and hard won achievements. They go through a mental list of family and friends living in New York, and almost as an afterthought his father offers some news on Oliver. Not of a wedding, but of a teaching position at Columbia.

~

It’s his last summer at the villa before starting at the University. There are morning swims and sunbathing in the afternoon sun. Evenings of wine and conversation over long, languishing dinners. And nights he goes out with his cousins and friends to movies, bars, and dancing.

One night he goes out with Marzia with their friends, Evonne and Leon. Marzia dances with her boyfriend, Elio dances with their friends. He and Marzia dance together when Time After Time plays. Like so many of their nights together they all gossip in french, who is with who, and drink too much red wine. It's after two when everyone starts leave, one by one.

Not ready to call it a night, Elio and Leon go to an after hours bar, and end up at a table with a couple of guys from the University in Paris, Sean and Taylor, visiting friends in the countryside. They have some pot, so Leon offers to buy them gin in exchange for some. At last call they end loosing Taylor to a couple of girls at the bar, and they wander the mostly empty streets, singing and mostly messing up the the lyrics to Tainted Love. 

It's a sweltering summer night, so they end up at the river and go night swimming. Leon smokes to much and passes out on the grass, and Sean and Elio laugh and share the last of a joint. Their shoulders are touching when Sean leans over to kiss him then, soft and questioning. It's not unexpected, they've been watching each other since they'd strpped down to their underwear to go swimming.

Elio leads them behind a fence where they can be hidden, because in the moment he thinks he wants to know what it would be like, touching another guy. Not Oliver, Not Oliver, Not Oliver, Elio plays the words over in his head. Sean is smaller, leaner, brunette. Altogether different, this stranger, and the rush and thrill of it tingles up his spine and through his limbs. Where there had once been nerves and fumbling towards an unexpected intimacy, now there is a detached curiosity chasing after a fleeting connection.

Elio walks back to the villa just before dawn, a hint of sunrise in the sky. He is on his way to New York, Sean on his way back to Paris. They don't exchange numbers, it's a parting that's more relief than regret.

~

In the Fall his parents help him move his boxes, a coffee maker, and a desk into his dorm room on campus. It's a crisp fall afternoon in New York, and the University is overrun with students dressed in sweaters and scarfs. Red and orange rusted leaves litter the common grounds, and storm clouds are on the horizon.

Samuel arranges for a rental loft on the upper west side to be closer, “There’s enough work to keep me in New York for awhile,” Samuel explains. “Only if you promise we’ll visit Crema often,” Annella offers in compromise.

As a housewarming they invite their family and friends in New York to the loft for dinner. Oliver arrives shaking off the rain from his scarf and over coat, and runs a hand through is wet strands of hair. He joins Samuel and the other academics debating the pros and cons of the Socratic method. An annual Fall tradition among Samuel and his colleagues.

Elio ends up with cousins smoking cigarettes out on the covered balcony, overlooking the city's skyline. They're planning to go out to a club later. He's thinking of making an excuse because finally Oliver is here, and there is so much left unsaid between them. But then again, they haven't spoken two words to one another all evening, and it's too much like the early days that summer when he was sure Oliver was avoiding him.

His cousins filter back inside, leaving for the club. It's then Oliver finds him out here, his fingertips brush against Elio's shoulder as he takes the seat beside him on the bench. “I got your letter. Figures you'd end up at a University for music prodigies.”

“How so,” he asks, and shifts until their knees and feet are side by side.

“It’s the way you play, like the music's part of you.”

“I thought you didn't like the way I play.”

“The way I remember it, I asked you to play. You're the one who gave me a hard time about it.”

_Sound's nice._  
_Thought you didn't like it?_  
_Play it again, will you?_

He smiles at the memory. “I couldn't let you see how much I’d liked your asking.

Oliver laughs and shakes his head. His hair still a little frumpled from the rain, and it undoes Elio a little. Disheveled Oliver was always his favorite. He nods towards the cigarettes on the table by way of asking for one, and Elio shakes open the pack, lights one and passes the cigarette to Oliver's waiting fingers. It's then Elio notices, no ring.

“You’re here alone,” he asks, because he's been dying to know all evening. 

“Elaine had some friends in from out of town.”

“Elaine huh,” Elio repeats, testing the name in his mouth. “And what did you tell her about your summer with the Perlman's?”

“I talk about Heraclitus' influence, cataloging antiquities, organizing Professor's correspondence...”

“So no talk of the berm, or Rome,” or me, he stops before he asks.

Standing again, Oliver flicks the ashes from his cigarette, and walks to the balcony rail overlooking the city. Elio can barely make out his blurry reflection in window against the night. “There are some things I keep to myself.”

“You haven't been writing, I didn’t know,”

“I know, I thought I should give you some time to get settled.”

“You think I need time?”

“I think we both do.”

“Why, why do you say that?”

Oliver breathes in a drag before putting the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table. He's quiet for several minutes. Elio is about to give up and change the subject, certain that Oliver's silence is him raising his impenetrable walls again.

“You know why,” Oliver finally answers, his voice barely a whisper. “I'm involved, and it's complicated. Then there's you, and your life is just starting in so many ways, there's no limit where your talent might take you.”

“You say things like that, and it makes me think you might... and then you disappear again.”

Oliver takes the seat beside him, slides off his loafer before brushing his socked foot against Elio's bare toes. “I told you I remember everything. I told you I would take time to think. You asked me to wait. Now I'm asking you, just wait."

He tucks his toes underneath Oliver's covered foot, and nods his head. Silent because any words he can think to say Oliver seems to have guessed at already .

~

There are rules Oliver has in New York, they meet only on neutral territory, Elio and Oliver. His parent's loft, dinner parties with family and friends, Hanukkah and Passover. And the rare cup of coffee nearby campus. Oliver keeps to these rules, steering their conversation towards topics like Homer and Haydn. They debate, argue, find agreement and points of contention, and more often than not end up finishing each other’s sentences. 

~

Elio's first year at the University is a haze of coffee and cigarettes, classes and rehearsal, and late night study sessions. He starts sleeping with his best friend Zooey in the spring, after a late night of beer pong and sharing a few joints. The morning after they sit side by side against the headboard of his twin bed, and hold hands. “I think I like guys, too“ he tells her, because he remembers the mistakes he’d made with Marzia. 

“Elio, you know I like you, but we were high last night. It's nothing to make any promises over” She ties her brunette hair in a ponytail, and wraps herself inside her hoodie. “Lets be friends, we'll last that way.” They develop their own on and off again arrangement after that, more based on comfort than any expectations.

~

Oliver writes again the summer he's back at the villa.

I went to a concert the other night, Bach. Made me think of you. Yours, Oliver.

I'm in your head, good. Dad gave me a copy of your book. And now you are in mine. Congratulations Professor. Yours always, Elio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came to this film and book late, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking of this story since! This mostly written in three parts, maybe an epilogue. I’ll post every few days after edits. My first time writing in this fandom, please be gentle. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you all like! 
> 
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, sorry.  
> Disclaimers, none of this ever happened.
> 
> References  
> Call Me By Your Name- Canon divergent, a mix of book and movie references.  
> Norwegian Wood, by John Lennon and Paul McCartney.  
> Time After Time, by Cyndi Lauper.  
> Tainted Love, by Soft Cell.  
> I decided on the name Elaine for Oliver’s fiance, it’s from The Graduate, one of my all time favorites!


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step back, and one step forward.

Oliver

Out on the balcony Oliver sits against a pillow he keeps stashed out here, with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There's a hint of breeze out here underneath the blanket of night, the stars faint against the haze of the city lights. Somewhere piano music playing, too faint to make out the song.

He came out here when he couldn’t fall back to sleep, and lit himself a cigarette. This is his spot, where he’d spend hours. First thing in the morning, in the evenings for a cigarette break, or late at night, like now. It's his place to be alone with his thoughts. 

Next to him on the railing is the latest letter from Elio, peeking out from an envelope of their collected correspondence, and the postcard from Elio’s room. They’ve been writing back and forth all summer. He’d woken with Elio’s words in his ears, dreaming again of the villa where he'd felt Elio's presence everywhere, in his room, their room, the pool, the river. 

He had been so careful then, second guessing every step he took towards Elio, following Elio’s lead, rushing head first into something neither had words for in the moment. It used haunt him, when he’d hold Elio in his arms the nights they shared together, knowing that for better or worst he would leave his mark on Elio. 

Then he’d remembered the way Elio and Marzia had carried on with one another, and thought maybe this was another summer fling for Elio, fun and games. That it’d be Elio to leave his mark on him. It would make things easier in some ways, knowing that it would be he, and not Elio, that would be the one to pay. 

That thought lasted a few hours, and vanished when he’d found Elio later that night. It had started as it usually did with them, reaching out for one another in blind need, and ended with dried tears on their eyelids and cheeks. It was then he started understand just how in over their heads they were in this.

He was still sorting all of this out in his head when his time in Italy ran out.

And then Elaine was there, at a time when his heart was battered with all the back and forth and longing for what he’d left behind. It’d happened like everything else did with them, something they had found themselves stumbling into. One thing leading to another to another, then before he knew it he and Elaine were on again. They had fallen so easily into each other’s lives, and he clung to the refuge it had offered with both hands.

Last winter Elio started writing, and ever since that summer has been bleeding back into his life in New York. Elio's there before him again, his easy smile, his piercing eyes, his quick comebacks that Oliver learned were more defensive, than challenging. At the Perlman's loft, dinner parties, and a few times his resolve weakened and they meet just the two of them for coffee.

He closes his eyes and pictures Elio playing the piano at a concert, a round of applause from his classmates and teachers. Samuel had told him about a concert last year, Elio had received an honorable mention. He’s still finding his way through his music, his friendships, and love. Elio’s experiences now are forming and shaping the man he will grow into. 

And Oliver is right back where he started in all of this, terrified of all the spectacular ways this could go so wrong. And unable to resist following Elio’s lead. 

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, smothers the cigarette butt in the ashtray, and stands to go back inside. He tucks the envelope back into the drawer of his nightstand, finds a clean sheet of paper and pen, and starts a letter. 

~

Elio

In the fall Elio returns to the University, unpacking boxes in his new room. He and Zooey are untangling their clothes from their bags, she’s in the room across the hall. Somewhere down the hall someone is playing Drive on the radio. 

There’s a knock at the door, and for a second he’s sure he’s imagining Oliver’s presence, so out of place at a college dorm wearing a suit and overcoat. Oliver is here, breaking his rules.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Oliver says, looking back and forth between he and Zooey. 

Elio drops an armful of levi’s and sweaters, and stands to meet Oliver in the doorway. Zooey nods her head and regards them with a questioning look, before shrugging and turning back to her boxes. “You’re not. Oliver, this is Zooey, Zooey, Oliver. Sorry for the mess, I just got back yesterday.”

“I know, I spoke with your dad. Actually, that’s why I’m here,” Oliver explains in a rush, his eyes flickering around the room. “I went to the bookstore the other day, and I came across this, made me think of you.”

Oliver hands him the small paper bag at his side. He opens it carefully, lifting the cover to inspect the introduction to an early edition of William Blake’s poems. “You remembered. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did,” he starts, but then the expression on Oliver’s face shifts. And he knows that look, shuttered and impenetrable. 

“Anyway, I wish I didn’t have to go, I’m on my way to a lecture the next block over, so, I’ll see you later,” Oliver all but says over his shoulder turning on his heel to leave just as quickly as he’d arrived. 

It’s almost a full minute before Zooey is shaking Elio out of his confusion, and he’s running out into the hall in the direction of Oliver. “Oliver, wait for a second, let me thank you.” 

Oliver stops for a moment, looks around them, and continues his fast pace with Elio falling in line beside him. “You have, and you’re welcome, but really I have to go. Say hi to your mom for me, I owe her a letter.” 

He watches as Oliver disappears behind the double doors, and looks down at the book still in his hand as proof that in fact, yes, it really happened.

~

Sophomore year is a struggle, and it's an effort to keep up with his courses. But he redoubles his efforts, he spends hours at the piano with Mozart and Chopin in preparation for an upcoming presentation.

They don’t celebrate American Thanksgiving, so it frees him over the holiday. He and Zooey plan a trip with their friends from music theory Matt and Dan, and they spend a weekend in Brooklyn. They eat pizza and drink cider beer at a pub until last call, and walk across the length of arched bridge beneath the bright streetlights and falling snow.

~

In December he’s officially concerned, it's been months since he has heard from Oliver. No chance encounters at dinners, no let's meet for coffee, no letters. It's not until his father calls to tell him they will be in staying New York for the holiday. Oliver will be visiting for dinner as well, with his fiance.

Elio brings Zooey a little as a safety net, more for her support. He did tell her that there was someone, just not who that someone was. He holds her hand in his, and introduces her and catches up with his cousins and friends.

Oliver's hand rests on the small of Elaine’s back as they refill their drinks. Oliver in his gray suit, Elaine in an off white sleeveless dress. She's tall, dark blonde with green eyes, they are a stunning side by side one another. Elio overhears, “my parents are staying with us for the holiday.” With Us. It hits him then, the few pieces of Oliver that he's been carrying around since Italy don't fit into this version of Oliver across the room from him. Maybe that's been the problem lying there between them all along.

After dinner his father pulls him aside, and asks about his classes, his friends. Elio knows Samuel is offering him space to talk, or not, whatever he needs. He hugs his dad then, reminded again how lucky he is.

Oliver corners him in the hall on his way back. “I didn’t bring her here to hurt you, I thought it'd be better to introduce you, rather than accidentally running into one another.” 

“Let’s not do this here. I'm okay,” he says, managing a weak smile. His face must have given something away, because Oliver reaches for him before stepping aside to let him return to the party.

~

It’s the following Sunday when there is a letter from Oliver in his mailbox. 

_I’m here when you’re ready. Write me when you can. Oliver._

He writes back the same day.

_Not now, but soon. Elio._

~

Winter session he works from the moment he wakes until he falls into bed at night exhausted. He's heart sick so it's either work, or pull the covers over his head and listen to How Soon is Now on his Walkman on repeat. There's no in between when he gets like this.

He thinks he must be past tired, and well on his way to seeing things when he starts to sees a tall, blond, guy on campus. Not Oliver, he thinks, and follows the guy with his eyes despite how it hurts to look at him. Elio finally introduces himself when he sees him again at a house party. Jason, a graduate student in music composition, he tells Elio over red solo cups of cheap beer. He drinks that night until he forgets the Not Oliver part on repeat in his head.

Jason is quiet and shy, until he senses pretenses. He calls Elio out on his wallowing when he sulks, and his sarcasm when Elio tries to deflect. They fall into bed fast the first night, and it's frantic every time after, like an itch underneath his skin can never quite reach. They end up in the back of Jason's car, in Elio's room when his roommate is out. They sneak around campus, and every time Elio closes his eyes and remembers, the feel of muscle and hard edges against his, blond stands slipping between his fingers, and blue eyes. Jason's eyes are grey. It works for a while, until it doesn't. Imitations never last.

Zooey had guessed from the start, and ends up holding him the night he finally breaks it off. She distracts him by sharing a joint, and plans for spring break. She’s going on a trip with their friends Matt and Jen to Niagara Falls. “You should come, clear your head and get away for awhile.”

“Next time, I promise. There’s something I need to do.”

~

_I’m ready. Meet me at the Met next Sunday, the Renaissance exhibit. Elio._

_Excellent choice, I’ll see you at noon. Oliver_

~

The exhibit is bustling with visitors when they meet in the early April afternoon. Oliver waits for him out front on the stairs leading to the entrance, he’s wearing relaxed levis, and a grey jersey beneath a fleece jacket. He stops a few steps from Elio, stiff and on guard. “Renaissance exhibit, huh?”

He shrugs, and leads Oliver inside by bringing their fingers together. “Thought you’d appreciate it.” 

They fall back into their shared familiar space, a mutual love of the arts and classics. They comment back and forth on the paintings and sculptures, hints of emerging logical reasoning and sciences alongside religious Christian themes and allegories, expressed in subdued colors and classic lines. 

After the exhibit Elio leads them upstairs in the direction of the impressionists section. They stand side by side observing two different paintings.

“Degas favored pastels, and soft lines,” he remarks.

Oliver nods in agreement. “Renoir favored outlines over profiles, and outdoor dining.” 

He moves on to Van Gogh. “It’s the primary colors side by side that accentuates the fluid movements of the piece,” he says when Oliver stands beside him. Oliver hums by way of an answer.

“I missed this,” he whispers.

“Us you mean? Or Van Gogh,” Oliver whispers back.

“All of it.”

“Me too.”

Oliver smiles, but it’s careful, the way he’s been all afternoon. Oliver’s eyes follow him, as they go from painting to painting, letting Elio lead their tour. 

“I’m trying to be okay,” he offers by way of explaining his distance. “I’d overheard you that night, you're living with her.”

“The way you’d looked at me, I knew you knew. It wasn’t planned. Her lease was up, it just happened.” 

“You don’t have to explain, not to me. Let’s clear the air and agree I'm not the one to talk to about your domestic arrangements.” 

“I don't want to keep things from you,” Oliver hesitates, and looks him in the eye before he continues. “But I think I went and made a mess of everything anyway.” 

“I’ve made my own mistakes, too,” Elio answers, and moves onto Seurat. 

“Answer one more question, and then no more talk of arrangements. How’s your girlfriend? You looked happy with her.”

“She's my friend, is that what you thought?”

“You seemed close, she could be good for you,” Oliver says, closely inspecting another Van Gogh. “You’re not the only one trying to be okay, you know. But if I’m honest, I’d rather you not hold yourself back from something with her, if that’s what you wanted.”

A sharp sigh rises from his chest, of course he doesn’t know. Oliver had no idea just how large his presence was in Elio’s world, dividing his life into before and after. “Is that what you want? For me to try and move on with her? I’d only break her heart.”

“No, I want you to live your life, experience college and music and love. You deserve that chance. And if we find our way back to this one day,” Oliver says, waving a hand between them. “I don’t know, that’s what I tell myself, anyway.”

Monet’s collection is next. Elio stops in front of one, overgrown trees tall on the horizon, behind fields of green grass spotted with yellow flowers, on the outskirts of rippling water reflecting the light blue sky and trees. He closes his eyes, and he can still feel Oliver's fingers touching and brushing his lips that day. 

It’s early evening when they leave, and there’s a hint of winter in the air despite the bright spring sunshine extending the day. They make their way through Central Park, and take a detour hidden away from the weekend crowds. It's a trail shrouded by trees, budding green leaves emerging on the branches. 

Before he can think better of it he gives into a sudden idea, and takes Oliver by the hand to lead them down a path. By doing this he supposes he’s breaking the unspoken truce they’ve maintained, breaching a door Oliver had tried to close and hide behind, but in the end left open a sliver. He looks around to make sure they are alone, and backs Oliver behind a tree.

“What am I to you,” he finally asks the question he’s puzzled over in the back of his mind for years. A summer fling, the professor's kid, a secret, maybe it’s a little of all of the above. “How do you see me?”

Oliver pulls him in by the back of his neck. “I told you once, remember,” he whispers his name against Elio’s ear, stubble brushing against the side of his neck.

Elio closes his eyes, tilts his head back and whispers his own name back. “You still think about how it could be, for us?”

“That hasn't changed,” Oliver answers, and moves his hands down Elio’s back to rest at his hips. “Nothing's done that can't be undone. I haven’t made any promises. There’s time to wait.”

~

Oliver's letters are waiting for him when he returns to the villa in the summer.

_It's after midnight, I think I must have been dreaming of the villa. Can't get back to sleep. It's been awhile since I've heard from you, I wonder how you are. Do you still play guitar, are you going out dancing with your friends? I hope so. Write to me when you can. I miss hearing from you, Oliver_

_Do you dream of me? That's funny, I dream of you sometimes. You started this, so can I tell you, I still dream of swimming by the river, lying in the grass in the sun, I dream of Rome, that last night, you remember? Have I said too much? Write to me. Yours, Elio._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m kind of happy with how this chapter turned out, hope you all liked it!
> 
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, sorry.  
> Disclaimers, none of this ever happened. 
> 
> Reference  
> Call Me By Your Name- Canon divergent, a mix of book and movie references.  
> Norwegian Wood, by John Lennon and Paul McCartney.  
> Drive, by the Cars  
> How Soon Is Now, by The Smiths.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter, there is a minor health scare involving HIV/AIDS to be realistic to the timing of the story. Happy endings.

Oliver

Oliver’s home office is a desk pushed up against a corner, with bookshelves bracketed overhead. There are stacks of papers and books waiting to be organized. He’d given up trying to sleep around two in the morning, and settled here to clear out some of old work.

A mug of bourbon sits half empty on the desk, and cigarette burns in the ashtray. Landslide is playing on the radio in the background, against the silence of the apartment. 

Elaine never made it home last night, and he knows the signs. They’re on their way to off again, he and Elaine. She’s been moving her things out, one box at a time, says she’s staying over with an old college roommate. 

They’ve been here before, after years of back and forth. Mornings of sharing coffee and a shower before leaving for work. Evenings at the apartment, sharing their day over fixing dinner, and drinking wine. Nights of lying in each other’s arms, sharing plans for a life, where will they marry, how many kids, where will they settle down?

They’ve been drifting from each other for awhile now. They’re looking past one another, and the close familiarity they share is slipping into a gradual restlessness. He’d forgotten how much it’s hurts when they are on the decline, and it’s breaking his heart all over again.

He can’t blame her, he knows well enough where they went wrong. He’s given her plenty of reasons to leave, his distance, his distraction, his inability to commit to this anymore than what he has.

Then there was Elio. Not just a memory of a losing his heart in Italy. But here, living his life beside his, meeting at dinner parties, cafes, and museums. It’s not because of Elio. But if he’s honest, Elio is the reason why they’ve stalled, and haven’t move forward with their engagement. 

He knows what he should do. She might just stay if he could get it together long enough make a scene and demand to know where they stand. She might look back at him and see how affected he is, how his life is adrift without her. Remind her of their years of history, how good they are together. The life they talked about and could still have, he’ll finally commit to it all, a marriage, a house, and children. 

But what he wants is a different question. Elio, in Crema, at the berm, in Rome, at Julliard, at the Met, all versions of Elio. Late at night on the verge of sleep, he sometimes lets himself think about it, what if he were to give in and ask Elio to be with him, and set aside their others for one another. But none of it is fair to ask, because there would be too much to answer for, from his parents, from his friends. It’s more than what he might be built for, more than he would dare to ask of Elio. But that’s what Elio does to him, shifts his world off its axis, and makes him want for impossible things. 

He runs a hand through his hair, and lights another cigarette. Setting aside one stack of papers, he moves to yet another one. His notes from his book he wrote that summer, Heraclitus. The one quote still stands out to him.

_The meaning of the river flowing is not that all things are changing so that we cannot encounter them twice, but that some things stay the same only by changing._

He’s read the words dozens of times, at various points in his life, and each time finds some new interpretation. Tonight, he thinks the meaning he discerns is this- given the flow of the river, it strips away layers revealing more of who we are over time. 

~

Elio 

In the fall Elio returns to the University. He throws himself into his class work, taking notes, transcribing, rehearsing, taking on teaching jobs. Anything to keep himself distracted. His friends try, but he makes sure he's too busy when they go out. He stays at the studio practice rooms late, until everyone’s asleep, or out for the night. 

It's been in the back of his mind, but it starts to occupy his thoughts when he notices ads around the city encouraging men who have been sexually active with men to be tested, to use caution. It’s been all over the news. And he thinks he's been careful, but careful enough? There was one night he drank too much, he still can't remember exactly what happened, if he and Jason were safe. The question lurks in his thoughts for weeks. He doesn't feel sick, but the articles he's researched say that doesn't matter. It could be a dormant virus for years.

Letters from his parents, cousins, and Oliver sit unopened on his desk. He can’t bring himself to read them. In November his mom calls him, she’s concerned, “Elio, ce n’est pas comme toi, ce silence,” she says. “Desole, mais je dois aller en classe,” he answers.

In December he breaks down and finds a clinic to get tested. He goes alone early on a Tuesday morning. The results are negative, and he doesn’t realize he's crying until the tears of relief are running down his face. Which of course leads to another nose bleed, and he has to sit still for ten minutes with an ice pack. 

He has to return in six months for a follow up test, and he makes a vow of chastity to whatever God might be listening.

~

Zooey invites him home to New Haven to meet her family over Hanukkah . He welcomes her invitation, not ready to face his parents, family, and Oliver just yet. He calls his mom to tell her of his plans, and Annella settles for his promise to stay with them for New Years. 

He spends a week with Zooey’s family, musicians mostly, she says it runs in the family. There are hours debating common topics of interest, Baroque versus the Neoclassical styles. And it’s what he’s been needing, he thinks, walking home from a party with Zooey, his arm around her shoulder. They are dressed in coats, boots, and mittens, as snowflakes drift and fall around them. Being here in this new place, with new people, it finally forced him to clear his head.

~

New years he's held up with his parents in their loft in New York. It's snowing, and his father plays Mozart on the record player. They've been watching him all week, searching for signs. He plays the piano when they ask to ease some of their concern. 

“Maybe we should invite Oliver for Sunday brunch, what do you say,” Samuel asks. Annella hums her agreement, and Elio can’t help his smile at the mention of his name. Which seems to answer any questions judging by Samuel’s relieved smile.

~

Oliver meets them at at the loft late Sunday morning. It's the four of them, reminiscent of the mornings back at the villa. Only instead of sunglasses and sunscreen, now there are sweaters and scarfs. They have crepes and nutella, soft boiled eggs and ham, and listen as Annella comments on a review from the arts section of the paper. 

Samuel and Annella make their excuses afterward, they have tickets for a book reading. Oliver stays and pours them two more espressos, and it confirms his suspicions, his parents have been conspiring.

“This isn’t just brunch, is it? Did my dad put you up to this?”

“He’s worried, but he didn’t say anything specific. Actually, I’ve missed your parents, I haven’t been able to visit as much as I’d like. And I wanted to see you, they’re not exclusive motives.”

“You missed me?”

“You'd know I did, if you'd read my letters.”

“I disappeared on you again, I’m sorry. My head’s been all over the place.”

“It’s okay, if needed time, “ Oliver says, and sets aside his cup of espresso. “Look, you’re an intelligent person, and most assume that you’ll find a way to work out your own problems. But your parents aren’t most people. It's not like you not to talk to them.”

“They worry, It was just something I had to deal with on my own.”

“Can you talk to me?”

“No, not about this. Especially not this.”

“Elio, you can't say things like that and expect me not to worry.”

His mouth opens and closes again, searching for the words to try to answer for his distance the last few months. “There's nothing to worry about, okay? It's something that happened, and I thought that... But the test came back negative. I have to go back in six months, but I'm okay.”

Oliver's expression shifts with the words, his eyes harden before he pulls Elio to him in a firm grip. “Jesus, Elio, you scare the shit of me. Did someone you know, did they get sick?”

“No, it's not like that” he answers, shaking his head. “I'm careful, I am, I guess I scare myself sometimes.”

“I wish you had told me, I hate the thought of you going through that alone.”

“I couldn't. I can barely tell you this now. I was stupid, and I'm embarrassed.”

Oliver folds their hands together, and brushes his thumb over his wrist. “So there was someone, a man?”

“No, I mean not anymore there isn't,” he answers, burying his forehead in Oliver’s shoulder. “Seriously, you don't want to hear about him, Oliver. Anymore than I want to hear about her. No talk of arrangements, remember?”

“I agreed to that when I’d thought it’d make things easier for you. But now I don’t know, are you happy?”

He almost lets himself say it. I was happy, that summer with you. Instead, he asks, “well what about you, are you happy?”

Oliver lips ease into a small smile, the genuine one he offers so rarely. “Depends on the day. Right now, I am.”

~

They start meeting for coffee again, every Friday morning. At a cafe nearby campus, there’s a table in back where they talk. Mostly on topics of Haydn and Homer, Dante and Debussy. But they also share their day, a difficult piece Elio’s been obsessing over he has to present to class, or a Lecture Oliver thinks missed its mark with most of his students. 

It’s a little of Oliver watching over him, and keeping him at arm’s length. He’s still keeping to his rules, but sometimes it's in the way Oliver laughs or smiles. Their conversations include memories of that summer, still present in the space between them. 

~

Over Spring break, he and his friends come up for air from a brutal course load. His friends Jen, Dan and James plan a road trip to the Hamptons. Elio spends a long weekend on the couch at Dan's family beach house. They sit outside on lounge chairs on the sand, listen to Free Fallin’ on radio, drink rum and beer, and watch the waves roll in and out for hours. 

~

In June, six months after the first test, Oliver insists on returning with him to the clinic. The doctor reads the results from the clipboard, negative. And the relief he feels is mirrored in Oliver's face. Oliver closes his eyes, and mouths something that looks like he’s whispering a silent, thank you, and he wraps Elio in his arms.

~

The following week Elio attends an end of the school year concert, a schedule of students performing, dressed in suits and dresses. He was asked to perform a piece by Bach. His parents left for Italy early, so he invites Oliver as his guest. He mentions it over coffee, and to his surprise Oliver readily accepts. It’ll be his first formal performance Oliver has attended. 

From behind the curtains he watches as Oliver arrives just before the first performance, and finds a seat in back, a schedule in his hand. He glances and finds Oliver’s eyes on him when it’s his turn on stage, and he feels each note in his arms, wrists, and fingertips as he plays the piece. Technically maybe it isn’t not one of his best performances, but it’s one of his most heart felt. 

Afterward his classmates stay on and say their goodbyes for the summer. He finds Oliver in the crowd, and introduces him to his friends and professors. He’s Oliver, without the conditions of family friend, or my Father’s old intern. He’s just Oliver. 

The crowd thins and disperses, and they follow his friends out for a cigarette. Jen, Matt, and Dan are organizing an outing, and invite them out for drinks.

“We should go,” Elio suggests, finishing off the last of his cigarette.

“Right now,” Oliver laughs, and looks at his watch. 

“Yeah, right now, unless you have be somewhere to be in the morning.” 

“Nothing I can’t get out of,” he answers, taking Elio’s offered hand.

~

They find themselves in the bustling streets in midtown, sweating against the early summer heat. At a corner bar, they drink martinis until they’re on the other side of tipsy. Then they find a dance club, a mix of Wild Wild Life and Psycho Killer fills the warehouse. Oliver loses his jacket and dances with abandon, closing his eyes and losing himself in the music's frantic and melodic pace. For hours they dance with his friends, with each other. And he doesn’t care tonight if his friends are watching him with Oliver, let them wonder and gossip. 

Then there is a moment of silence before the first guitar strings of Purple Rain starts to play, and the dance floor fills with couples swaying and holding one another. He finds Oliver looking back at him from across the dance floor, as the lyrics fill the room.

They make their excuses to his friends, and midnight finds them alone laughing and dancing, lost and aimless following the road where it leads. They’re drunk on wine and martinis. More than that Elio feels drunk on Oliver's presence all evening, the feel and scent and sight of him, they haven't been in each other’s space this much since Italy. 

They circle and turn around, until Oliver presses him into the wall behind them, holding their hands together and tangling their fingers. Their chins and noses brush against one another, until their lips meet. Breathless and dizzy, he digs his fingers into Oliver's shoulder to ground him.

“We can't, we shouldn't,” Oliver whispers, resting his forehead against Elio's.

“Just tonight, let’s pretend,” He answers, cupping Oliver's face with his hands, his thumbs feather light against those cheekbones. “It's our last night in Rome, we still have one more night together.”

Oliver meets his eyes and pulls Elio in his arms again. “One more night.”

~

They end up at a motel room they happen across, a generic chain with a vacancy sign. Oliver goes into the office to rent the room, while Elio waits outside pacing and fidgeting. They stumble into the studio room, not bothering with the light switch. Shirts, ties, and shoes, they work off each other's clothes, off and off and off, they whisper and laugh in the dark. 

They don't make it to the bed the first time, sliding down the wall behind them, falling onto the plush carpet. Where once he’d rushed to touch and lick Oliver’s skin, now he’s learned to draw it out, and suckles his way down the base of Oliver’s neck, his nipples and sternum, licking his way to a bruising kiss at the flesh of his hip. Oliver hands are tangled in his hair, touching the base of his neck until he can’t take it anymore and drags Elio to him, and flips them over. Oliver kisses and licks each eyelid, and the shell of his ear, as they rut against each other’s thighs, aching hard and wet, rocking against one another in a rhythm until they are indistinguishable from one another.

Later when Oliver leads him to bed, Elio says against his ear, “Fuck me, Elio,” like their first night together. Elio is anchored beneath him, knees on shoulders. Oliver sighs against his neck, and shutters at the words, moving inside him as his strict control is slipping He looks him in the eye then, Oliver and Elio whispered and exchanged beneath their shared breath.

Morning light starts to peek in through the cracks of the blackout drapes. Elio rests on his side, his back against Oliver's chest, as Oliver’s fingers idly touch his skin. He moves a little to test how sore he is, and smiles into the curve of his arm, a reminder that will be with him late into the day. “So much for my vow of chastity.”

Oliver scoffs, “A bargain with God? You were desperate, maybe God'll understand.”

“Which do you mean, desperate before? Or last night?”

“Both, I think,” Oliver says, nudging him. “Are you already regretting this?”

Elio shrugs his shoulders. “Mainly the part where we have to leave in the morning. What will you tell her, do you think,” Elio asks, leaning over to touch the necklace resting against the juncture of Oliver’s neck.

Oliver sighs, and looks up at the ceiling. “The truth. I owe at least that much to her, and to you. It's past time, don't you think? I'm just tired of walking around with this hole in my chest all the time.

“Tell me, what it’s like for you,” Elio says, turns away and wraps Oliver's arms around him, thinking this might be easier for Oliver to say it if they aren't looking at one another.

“Elaine and I, we’ve have been on and off again for years, I was honest with you about that,” Oliver whispers against the back of his neck. “We’ve been on our way to off again for awhile now. And I’ve tried, but then there was you. I’d take a step towards you, and it was like standing at the edge of a cliff. I’d take a step towards her, and I could breathe again. And none of it has been fair to either of you.” 

“It’s not fair to you either. Will she leave, do you think?

“I don't know, probably. It might be the last straw, maybe what I deserve. Or maybe that’s what I really want,” Oliver answers, and waits for Elio to look back at him before he continues. “Tell me about you, what has it been like for you?”

“You know some of it already,” he says, and buries his face in Oliver’s shoulder so he can get through this and finally say it. “There were others, but I never got it right. It was like scratching at the surface of something. When I think back on it, I think I was searching for hints of you, chasing after what we shared that summer. I can’t seem to get past it.” 

“I don’t think it’s something we’ll get past. I still think about it, you know. I wouldn’t change that even if I could,” Oliver answers with a hitch in his voice, like he’s trying to hold back but falters at the end. 

He reaches for Oliver’s hand, and kisses the base of his knuckles. “I’m going back this summer, to the villa. Do you think that you’ll ever go back?”

“You know I want that,” Oliver says, and returns a kiss to Elio’s palm. “But tonight is about tonight. Let's not ruin it and try and make it more than that.” 

He wraps Oliver’s arms around him again, and rests his head against the curve of his elbow. “How about this, I’ll write to you while I’m there. And if you can get away, promise you’ll think about it.”

Oliver draws him in close, and buries his nose into Elio’s neck. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one got away from me. Turns out there will be one more part to this story. I hope you all like this update as much as I do. :)
> 
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, sorry.  
> Disclaimers, none of this ever happened. 
> 
> Reference  
> Call Me By Your Name- Canon divergent, a mix of book and movie references.  
> Norwegian Wood, by John Lennon and Paul McCartney.  
> Landslide, by Fleetwood Mac  
> Free Fallin’, by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers  
> Psycho Killer and Wild Wild Life by Talking Heads  
> Purple Rain, by Prince & The Revolution


	4. Part IV

Oliver

Over the summer Oliver returns to the apartment at the end of the day after lectures and office hours, and sometimes Elaine is there, sometimes she’s out for the night. In July he spends his nights out drinking until last call. In the mornings he takes the edge off his hangovers with a splash of whiskey in his coffee. He spends the night on the couch at a friend's house when he thinks Elaine might be home. He brings a bottle back when he thinks she’ll be out. For weeks little more than a handful of words have passed between them. And everytime he lets himself think about it, he downs another drink. 

One Saturday morning he wakes to Elaine beside in bed, she’s combing her fingers through his sweat damp hair. He blinks his eyes open, he doesn't remember her being here when he’d gotten home the night before. “Elaine?”

She’s wearing flannel shorts and a long sleeved tee, and her hair is tied back. She shakes her head and scrunches her nose. “What time did you get in last night, you smell like a brewery.”

“Don’t know. Did you make coffee?”

“Go shower, I’ll put some on.”

After a long shower he towels at his wet hair and dresses in a tee and sweatpants. The scent of coffee brewing draws him into the kitchen.

She offers him a cup of black coffee, and an aspirin. “You are an angel, thank you.”

“You’ve been drinking,” she says, collecting the liquor bottles scattered around the apartment into a garbage bag. “Has it been that bad?”

He refills his coffee, and sits on a barstool at the kitchen counter. “It’s been a rough few weeks. I’m getting by.”

“Oliver, I’m sorry, I know avoiding each other isn’t helping.”

“Don’t, you’re not the one who should be apologizing.”

Sipping from her glass of orange juice, Elaine sits beside him and reaches for his hand resting on the counter. “This is what we do, isn’t it? We date for awhile until we stall, then I meet someone else, or you do.” 

He kisses her hand in a familiar gesture to reassure and ground himself. “Then we miss each other and start all over again. There’s something I’ve been working up to tell you. I don’t know how.” 

“Just talk to me.”

“I should’ve told you, I had so many chances,” he starts, and decides there's no way around it but to say it. “You actually met him at a dinner party last year.”

“Ah, there’s a him,” she says, and nods like it’s all starting to fall into place. “You haven’t talked about another him since you were an undergraduate, and your parents caught you with the RA. Who is he?” 

“It’s the Perlman’s son, it’s Elio,” he answers, and holds his breath.

Elaine blinks, her mouth opens and closes again before she answers. “The student from Italy? Oh Oliver, he can’t be over twenty. How did this happened?”

He swallows, and starts at the beginning, filling in the details he had left out about his internship. How he’d unexpectedly fallen for Elio that summer, at first thinking it had been unrequited, until Elio had surprised him with his own confession. And then he surprised himself all over again at the depth of what he had felt. 

“And I thought that was it, I had a life in New York, he had a life in Italy. And then you and I were back together, and I tried to leave it behind me. I really thought would we could make it work this time.”

“I know,” she says, and squeezes his hand. 

“But then he was in New York, and we were friends again. And I tried to keep my distance, until I didn’t. I was so careful until I couldn’t be anymore. We slept together a few weeks back, Elio and me.” He looks her in the eyes as he says the words, because he’s coming clean with all of it.

She is silent for several minutes as she looks at him, considering. “You're not a man driven by emotion, Oliver. You’re all about logic and reason. And despite yourself you still want him. You must, after all of this time, the way you talk about him.”

“I love you,” he says, because it’s important that she knows that too.

“And I love you, love’s not our problem. We can’t go on this way. It’s not healthy, your drinking, and my running away. It’s us living in denial.”

They spend the rest of the day talking, finally airing out all the spaces of silence that had taken up residence between them. Some of it reminiscing, some of it sorting out a separation. Most of it trying to untangle their still too fresh emotions. 

“What will you do now,” she asks when the go to bed that night, her body resting against his as he holds her. “If you’ve been punishing yourself because it’s what you think I want, I wish you’d stop. Whatever it is holding you back, I hope you can find a way let it go and be happy. Life is too short.”

“I want the same for you,” he answers, and draws her in for a kiss, reminiscent of the one they’d shared the first night they’d looked at one another, and saw the depth of understanding between them. 

Elaine moves out over the next week. And he drains the rest of his bottles down the sink, and writes to Elio in Italy.

~

Elio

Senior year he moves in with Zooey, Jen, and Dan in a communal room. This year he has an early morning composition class he needs to pass to graduate, so he stumbles out of his apartment to get to class at the crack of dawn, wearing his pajama bottoms with a long sleeve tee and a hoodie.

He’s so wrapped up in his classes and rehearsals, running around campus from first light until late at night. Over the last three years most of the faces on campus are familiar to him, and he knows which professors and classmates he likes to work and collaborate with. He also has a favorite piano he goes to for practice, a Bosendorfer.

In October he meets with his advisor to go over options after graduation. There’s graduate school, two to four more years of school.There’s free lance work, regional theaters, or internships. His performances already have a reputation for honorable mentions, and with an awarded BFA degree he has his choice of opportunities here in the states, or abroad. He starts to fill out applications, and schedules auditions.

Weekends he and his friends like to go out to parties, clubs, and dancing. And concerts around the city are a regular outing for them. They still ask about the elusive Oliver. He just smiles and shakes his head at their questions. There are no answers that he has that won’t lead to more rumours and questions, it’s best to let it be.

It’s Zooey who figures it out, that Oliver's the one he’s been pining over for from the start. She says so one afternoon when he is helping her practice her french. She’s sitting on his bed going through his french books on his nightstand, and comes across his copy of William Blake’s poems where he keeps Oliver’s letters. “Alors, il est le seul,” she asks. He doesn’t answer her, not until later that night when he’s tired and a little drunk, because he’s aching to tell someone that what he and Oliver shared happened, “oui, il est le seul.” 

~

Over Friday coffee he’s notices the dark circles under Oliver’s eyes, his frame is a little thinner and gaunt. And it’s only gotten worse the last few weeks. So he suggests they go for a hiking trip next weekend. He remembers how Oliver thrived under the sunshine and fresh air, surrounded by nature.

Oliver has an old Volvo he keeps in a garage, and they make their way towards upstate New York, and listen to Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons on their drive. They stop at a hiking path along the way. With their bags on their shoulders, they walk for hours in the crisp fall air, passing by trees with rustic red and yellow leaves.

Elio leads them up a steep trail, with Oliver in close pursuit behind. Their conversation is freer here. 

Elio climbs a ledge to take in the steep hills of auburn colors. “Do you ever wonder what it might’ve been like, if I hadn’t moved to New York for school?”

“You mean for us,” Oliver asks, stopping beside him.

“Yeah, do you think we would’ve written, or called?” 

“I know we would’ve, but we might not have seen each other for awhile.” 

“I would’ve visit you at your office at Columbia one day. Maybe one summer you would have visit the villa.

“I might’ve married. And you might’ve met someone your age. Why are you asking?”

“I have a few auditions next week, if I’m accepted it might take me out of New York next year.” He sees Oliver’s shift his gaze, so he’s quick to change the subject. “Actually, my secret plan is to convince you take a year off, and backpack across Europe with me,” he jokes, and finally Oliver is laughing, his cheeks a little flush with color. 

Further up the path Oliver stops at a bluff overlooking the valley. He’s quiet for several minutes before he says, “Elaine moved out a few months back.” And the pained look on his face is striking, silencing Elio’s questions, what did she say, what happens now, are you okay? Instead he wraps his arms around Oliver in a gesture of comfort. 

On the walk back Elio borrows an extra jacket of Oliver’s when it gets cold, and in exchange he wraps Oliver in one of his scarves. 

They stop at a roadside cafe for dinner, and rent a room at a motel for the night. Oliver crashes into bed like did his first day in Italy, and drifts off fast like he hasn’t properly slept in ages. He takes off Oliver’s shoes one at a time, covers him with a blanket, and keeps to his side of the bed that night. It makes Elio wonder just how bad it’s been for him, but he won’t press, not until Oliver is ready to talk. 

In the morning they drive back to the city, and stop for coffee and bagels. Elio plays his tapes for Oliver along the way.

~

Oliver

Oliver visits his parents over Thanksgiving. His aunts, uncles, and cousins are there. And he goes from conversation to conversation catching up on all the latest, who’s with who, new jobs and new moves, and new babies. And the familiarity of it stirs comforting memories of when he was a child, surrounded by family for the holidays. 

This house is full of memories of his childhood. He remembers his parents as affectionate and warm when he had reached out to them as a young child. But over the years he’d developed his own sense of self, and he had taken to acting out to test his limits. It was then something shifted, and his parents started to keep him at arm's length. And as a young man he’d minded the distance between them. But over time he had learned to match their steely gaze and return the look, defiant and deflective. 

His parents watch him now from across the room, and he he supposes it’s a matter of time before they corner him with questions. Elaine’s parents are family friends, and no doubt news of the separation has got back them by word of mouth. And he can already guess at what they have to say, every reproach and disappointment. He’s heard it all before, and he’s not looking forward to hearing it again. 

They’d found out about him once when he was in college, when there were rumors going around about his affair with another man, his resident advisor. He didn’t understand at the time what he would come to learn, that there are certain things he can’t explain to them, things he can’t make them understand. It an uneasy acceptance he’s finally settled on after years of struggling with it. 

That evening when the house is empty of guests, he sits on the couch in the living room across from his parents, sipping from a glass of wine. He acknowledges the separation, and it prompts the questions he’s been expecting.

His mother starts. “Honestly Oliver, we had to hear about it from friends. The least you could’ve done was pick up a phone and call us.”

“It just happened, we’re still sorting it out, Elaine and me. It seemed like something private between us. We’re still close friends.”

His father scoffs then. “So what’s the plan, you’re just going to let your future slip through your hands? You are not thinking about your responsibilities.” 

“I’ve spent my life planning out my future. But now I can’t tell you what’s going to happen, because honestly I don’t know.” 

He can see his father is leading up to another lecture going on about his reputation and his responsibilities. Before they can object he places his glass of wine on the coffee table, and rises to his feet. 

“I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, and leaves them in stunned silence. 

Back in his childhood room he strips out of his clothes down to his underwear, and falls into bed. He lies awake and remembers the words Elaine had said about his punishing himself. In a way he supposses he has been, trying and failing to live up to his parents’ expectations. But Elaine is right, it’s time to let it go and live his life. His parents can think what they want, they’re going to anyway no matter what he does. He’s just tired of making excuses and apologies. Maybe it’s time to put the past behind him.

He closes his eyes, turns on his side and remembers his weekend with Elio. 

~

Elio

Elio visits Oliver’s apartment on 114th street in the winter when they’re on their way to meet his parents for a concert, and Oliver stops for the tickets and a change of clothes.

He visits again to pick up a book Oliver had suggested when they’d debated the merits of existentialism, L’Étranger. And again when Elio drops off a recording of Debussy he’s been working on for a performance. 

One night he drops Oliver off after a late night out drinking and dancing, Oliver is rarely as free as when he’s dancing. He balances Oliver on his shoulder as he leads them into the apartment, Oliver laughs and stumbles to bed, which leads to a chaste kiss and touch before Oliver passes out.

Another night he sleeps on Oliver’s couch after he’s had a few too many himself. He wakes in the morning to a headache and Oliver moving around the apartment in his pajamas. Oliver brings him a mug of coffee with a hint of whiskey, and an aspirin. “Trust me, it helps,” Oliver says, firmly massaging his feet like he had once before. 

And he’s been patient, giving Oliver his space because he’s still holding back. But it’s driving Elio crazy.

In March, Elio arrives on his doorstep unannounced. Oliver answers the door wearing his reading glasses, dressed in khakis and a pull over sweater. 

“I got into graduate school,” he says, sidestepping Oliver to enter the apartment. “But now I’m wondering if I shouldn’t take a year off for an internship.”

“Don’t ask me, I’m the guy who dived into four more years of graduate school, after years of classes. I didn’t take any time off.” 

“What about your summer in Italy?” 

“Technically I was writing my dissertation, it was more of an internship. I’m almost done grading,” Oliver says, pointing towards his desk in the corner full of stacks of papers. “There’s food in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.”

Elio searches the fridge, and settles on a few slices of cheese and bread, with some red wine. He makes a cup of coffee for Oliver, and places on his desk. He searches Oliver’s bookshelves in the living room, going through his books and record collection. He settles on a familiar one and places it on the record player, Bach, Capriccio in B flat Major. 

After Oliver finishes with his paperwork, Elio pours him a glass of wine. They sit on opposite sides of the couch, and Elio slips his shoes off stretching out his legs, touching Oliver’s with his toes. Oliver is going on about his students lack of originality, saying he must’ve read the same paper on Plato’s cave twenty times over. 

Sometimes it’s just the sound of Oliver’s voice that does it for him, that and the afternoon stubble on his jaw. He inches and leans over until he has Oliver cornered on the couch, Bach is still playing in the background, it’s almost at the part they both remember. 

“It’s been too long,” he whispers, straddling his hips before Oliver can dislocate him.

Oliver tugs at him, before running his hands up and down his back, resting at his hips. “Slow down a little. A minute ago you were talking about graduate school, and internships. I thought we were having a conversation.” 

“Oliver, what are we waiting for,’ he asks, his hands slide underneath Oliver’s sweater.

“Do you even know what you want,” Oliver counters, cupping Elio’s face in his hands to look him in the eye. “Or Is this just about tonight?”

Elio meets his eyes, and shifts to work at Oliver’s belt buckle and zipper. “I want you, I have since I was seventeen. Stop doubting me, I know what I want.”

“And what about your plans? Don’t you want to talk first?” 

“If you want me to say it, I will. Whenever I think about where I’ll end up, I already picture you there.”

The look on Oliver’s face is half questioning, half lost when Elio reaches into into his underwear. ”I remember what it was like for us, how lost we were in one another Are you ready to go through all of that again?”

“It never stopped being like that for me, une partie de toi est toujours avec moi,”: Elio says, and Oliver closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “Wherever I go, I want to come home to you.”

“I’m like you,” Oliver answers, reaching up to brush his lips against Elio’s, licking at the tip his tongue before drawing him into a kiss, full of all the want and longing they’ve held back over the last year. 

Oliver leads them into his bedroom, removing items of clothing along the way. Elio lays him out on the bed, kissing his way down his chest, his abdomen, and takes Oliver’s length into his mouth. He eases his fingers inside when Oliver’s hands tug at his hair, moving his hips in sync with Elio’s touch. 

Later when Oliver is panting “fuck’, lying beneath him, his arms and legs wrapped around him as Elio rolls his hips and thrusts inside, his elbows digging into the mattress as he latches on and bites at Oliver’s neck, careless of the marks he’s leaving.

~

Elio graduates in June, and spends a weekend held up in their apartment with his friends. They drink rum and beer, and make brownies laced with pot. They spend most of their time playing music together, he and Mike trade places playing their practice keyboard, Dan plays the clarinet, Jen has her violin, and Zooey her Chello. Late Saturday night they sneak down to one of the practice rooms with a piano, and they play together for hours. Maybe it’s because his head is fuzzy, or maybe it’s nostalgia already settling in, but he can’t remember when they’ve played better.

They make promises to write and visit, but he’s old enough now to understand what that means despite their good intentions. He takes in the moment while he can, just in case it’s years before he sees his friends again. . 

~

Elio is accepted into a number of internships and schools, and in the end he selects an internship with the orchestra in Paris. His advisor tells him It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. In addition to that Annella’s cousins live in the city, and have a room for him to stay in. His decision is made when he’s allowed to postpone graduate school at Juilliard for a year. 

Elio invites, and Oliver agrees to return with him to the villa for the summer before he starts his internship in the fall. They talk about Oliver visiting Paris when he can get away, and Elio staying with him when he gets back to New York.

They don’t have it all figured out, not yet. And late at night when he can’t sleep, he questions in his mind whether he’s made a mistake, if they’ll be able to go on, half in and half out of each other’s lives for the next year. 

But then Oliver reaches for him when they are in bed at night, seeking him out, and he thinks maybe they might be able to make it work. It’s not a vow or a ring. It’s simply them offering themselves to one another, and maybe that’s all it needs to be.

His parents greet them when they arrive at the villa with laughter and open arms, “You are very welcome.” 

Time has left this place untouched. Orchard trees of fruit, the steady flow of the river, the gentle breeze, and the ever present warmth of sunshine. They fall into a summer routine of dining outside, visiting with a steady stream of friends and family. Oliver disappears with Samuel into his study for hours, they go back and forth over philosophies and antiquities like there was never a pause in their friendly debates. 

They fill their time with rivers to swim, books to read, music to play, and nights alone in their room. Exploring each other until they are both left breathless and sated, tangled in each other’s limbs. Alongside long, continuing conversations they share late into the night. 

One morning before dawn he whispers to Oliver in the dark, who’s asleep in his arms, this is as close as we might get to a life that’s right for us. 

One night they return to the berm on their bikes. Elio has his radio with him, and settles on a station when Nightswimming starts to play.

They strip each other of their clothes and underwear at the water’s edge, both damp with sweat from the summer heat. They ease into the cool water, a relief against their fevered skin. They splash and swim, circling around one another until Oliver takes him in his arms, and Elio and presses their lips together, whispering his own name against Oliver’s mouth. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's done! This is been a labor of love for me, this story has been stuck in my head for the last few months, I hope I did it justice. I hope you all like how it turned out. Thank you to everyone who has been so kind to read and send kudos and comments! 
> 
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, sorry.  
> Disclaimers, none of this ever happened.
> 
> References  
> Call Me By Your Name- Canon divergent, a mix of book and movie references.  
> Norwegian Wood, by John Lennon and Paul McCartney.  
> Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons  
> Bach, Capriccio in B flat Major  
> Nightswimming, by REM


End file.
